


Too Late

by QtyBondGirl24



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brief Smut, Character Death, Emotionally Constipated Thranduil, First Meetings, I Don't Even Know, I Love You, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Thranduil is a stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QtyBondGirl24/pseuds/QtyBondGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was too late now</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious fanfic and also my first time writing smut, so please go easy on me.

Title: Too Late  
Fandom: Hobbit  
Pairing: Bard/Thranduil  
Summary:  
It was bitterly cold, even for the oncoming winter. The type of cold that bit skin and stiffened joints. The sun’s last rays of the day warmed the frozen earth and the skin of one’s face. The air was pungent with the aroma of blood, elven, dwarven, human, and orc alike. It was all a very strange combination: frigid, bright, and ghastly.  
What was stranger still, was that Bard perceived none of this. The widowed bargeman was sprawled across a rocky outcrop. He was aware, however, that he had an excellent view of the Lonely Mountain from his foothill vantage point. He was even more aware of a dull ache in his side. He was most aware of his slowing heartbeat.   
He had heard the horn signaling their victory, but he would partake in no celebration. The orcs had ensured it.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________   
How ironic.   
How ironic that the blow that would end his life would be struck after the battle ended.  
Life, even one that lasts forever, is so fragile. One vengeful orc with a jagged knife can end one with a single movement.  
How ironic that this would be the end of the ancient and fair Thranduil Elvenking.   
Slayed after the combat was over and as his back was turned. Only a few hundred yards away from where the corpse of his old enemy turned ally, spattered with blood. His silvery hair was soaked in scarlet and his breath was shallow. And no one was going to know. His son had already fled from him and the Halfling and Tauriel had gone back to Dale.   
They say a king is never alone.  
Funny, that he would die alone. 

“But I don’t want to be king!” the Bargeman complained.  
His companion chuckled and stood from his throne.  
“That matters not. You have saved them, Dragonslayer, and now you are their idol.”  
Bard looked over to the Elvenking.  
“There are many others much more qualified to rule than me,” he mumbled.  
Thranduil sipped his wine and hummed.   
“I doubt that, meleth-nin.”  
Bard glanced around nervously and nodded toward the tent flap, where guards stood outside. Thranduil rolled his eyes.  
“My guards do not gossip about their king.” he said.  
Bard raised his eyebrow, incredulous.   
“Openly.” Thranduil conceded.  
Bard chuckled, but moved closer. Thranduil took his hand and Bard admired the difference. Thranduil’s pale, spindly digits interlocked with his own tanned, scarred ones.   
The Bargeman and the King.   
It was something out of a fairytale, albeit not a happy one.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Bard stared at his limp hand in morbid fascination. He found he could not move it by his own will anymore. He did not mourn the loss of work or combat, but the loss of petting his children’s hair and holding them close. He grieved the loss of those spidery fingers in his, the one’s he had held since the first day. 

Bard’s back ached with exhaustion. One of his palms had torn open on a nail and was stinging under the makeshift bandage. But the People’s Champion toiled on, heaving barrels from the river. Once his barge was loaded, the man paused to rest. He sat in silence, watching the movements of Mirkwood. He watched a red squirrel edge closer and closer to him, sniffing for food. Suddenly, the rodent raced for the woods and scrambled up a tree. Bard’s eyes followed the squirrel lazily … until they met another set of eyes.   
Bard blinked and looked again. There they were. About halfway up the tree a pair of ice blue eyes were watching him intently.   
Bard sprang to his feet and snatched an arrow from his quiver. Nocking and aiming at the eyes, Bard waited for a reaction. They continued to stare at him unflinchingly. Bard’s fingers loosened on the string slightly, preparing to release. Suddenly, the eyes disappeared and Bard tensed in anticipation. He watched as a pair of feet landed on the earth, silently.   
The willowy figure emerged from the shadows and Bard blinked. All Elves were fair and lovely, but this one seemed more beautiful than the rest. It was impossibly tall with silver-golden hair and sharp, icy features. It was a cool, remote sort of beauty, the kind that taunts and torments the mind for lust of it. Arrogance and severity radiated from it, and yet curiousity was in its eyes. It was also definitely male.   
Bard fought a blush as the elf approached. He walked as if his ruled the forest floor.   
“I would appreciate it if you lowered your bow, Bargeman,” he called out to Bard.  
Bard noted that his voice was lower than he anticipated and silkily articulate.   
He did not move.   
The elf paused a few feet from him and held his gaze.  
“I mean no harm, I assure you,” he said, monotonous.   
Slowly, Bard lowered his bow.   
“Why were you watching me?” he asked shortly.   
The elf cocked his head and a smirk tugged at his lips.  
“I was simply curious.”  
Bard raised an eyebrow.  
“You. Curious. About me.”  
“Is that really so hard to believe?” asked the elf.  
“Yes,” Bard replied.  
The elf smirked some more, it was irritating.  
“Who are you, anyway?” asked Bard.  
“No one of consequence.”  
Bard snorted and held out a hand.  
“Well, hello, No One of Consequence. It’s nice to meet you.”  
The elf stared at his hand in bewilderment.   
Bard rolled his eyes and grabbed the other’s hand in his. The elf started at the contact. Bard arranged him into a proper hand shake and shook his hand. The elf started at their hands in confusion. Bard took pity on him.  
“It’s how men greet each other. So, hello. My name’s Bard.”  
The elf blinked and his lips twitched upwards.   
“Thranduil.”

Dying was interesting, Thranduil decided. A part of the life cycle that did not come naturally to elves. It was painful and yet simultaneously not. Vigorous and yet calm. His blood was rushing and his body was struggling to preserve his ancient form. But his mind did not consciously register the pain, he had to search for it. His thoughts wandered calmly and aimlessly through his memories.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
After Gandalf left the tent, Thranduil sprawled out on his throne and Bard got another goblet of Dorwinion wine. He watched the elvenking in silence. Thranduil’s extravagant robes obscured his form and his circlet had been removed, allowing his silvery locks to hang loose. It was a sharp contrast to Bard’s dark unruly hair that was held back messily. His own worn trousers and shirt were still damp and clung to him slightly. A king of hours and a king of centuries.   
The Valar are surely laughing, Bard thought.   
Thranduil let out a huff of breath and rested his eyes.   
“What say you of the Halfing?” enquired Bard.   
“His intentions are honorable, but worthless,” Thranduil muttered with a sigh.  
“Why do you say that? I think it quite brave,” Bard said.  
Thranduil opened his eyes.  
“The Halfing understands nothing of war or the greed of dwarves. And nothing of the extent of dragon sickness either. He is foolish and naïve,” He mumbled, “It will not work.”  
Bard was temporarily offended, but sighed in resignation. Thranduil was cynical, selfish, arrogant, and a host of other things, but Bard loved him in spite of it.   
He set down his wine and approached his lover. He stroked Thranduil’s head and ran his fingers through his hair. Thranduil looked up him wearily and reached up to pull him down. Bard was tugged down to meet Thranduil’s lips. This kiss wasn’t innocent like their first, but it wasn’t dirty and passionate like the one since. It was chaste, but intense expressing all the concern, relief, and frustration of the last few days. Hands fisted in clothing as they held each other close. Slowly, and reluctantly, they broke apart. Bard found himself amused at the fierce blush high on the Elvenking’s cheeks.   
“Amin mela lle,” Thranduil whispered.  
Bard smiled softly.  
“I love you, too.”

Bard was struck by the sudden and painful realization that it was all ending. No more hugging his kids, no more fishing with Bain, reading with Tilda, or cooking with Sigrid. No more days in the woods with Thranduil, no more arguing over archery, or making love, or just sitting in comfortable silence.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
The sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling mingled with Thranduil’s high-pitched cries. He was laid out on his back on top of Bard’s old, worn coat. His legs were wrapped around Bard’s waist. He let out loud whines and whimpers at each firm thrust of Bard’s hips. At each movement of Bard’s cock inside of him, stretching him deliciously. His nails dug red scratches into Bard’s bare back in time with his cries. His hair fanned out around his head framing his wanton, flushed face.   
“Ai! Nghhh- Bard!! Please!” he moaned as Bard took one of his pebbles nipples between his lips and began to suckle.   
Releasing the bud, Bard moaned as Thranduil clenched around him.  
“You love it, don’t you? You love to be fucked like this, with a big cock inside you,” Bard growled and Thranduil moaned at the words.   
“Who would have thought that the proud, aloof King Thranduil likes to bottom. How do you want it, baby? Harder, faster, deeper?” he teased.   
“Yes!” Thranduil shouted.  
Bard laughed and shifted his angle to hit that spot inside of his lover more directly.  
“Bard! Meleth-nin!!” he mewled.  
Bard grunted with effort as he leaned down to smother Thranduil’s cries with a kiss. Well, more of an uncoordinated mash of teeth and tongue. With the hand not holding himself up, he reached around and grabbed Thranduil’s plush ass. The Sindar groaned and bucked under him. Then, as Bard resumed sucking on his nipple, be started to rub his fingers around Thranduil’s rim. Teasing the stretched skin where they were joined so intimately. Thranduil keened and began to tremble, grinding back onto Bard’s cock and fingers. Suddenly, he jerked and toppled over the edge with a loud wail, body thrashing and clenching, seed spilling over their chests. Bard followed him a few thrusts later, shouting his elf’s name and spending his semen deep inside of Thranduil’s passage.   
The two of them lay there in each other’s arms, panting, sticky, and sated. Finally, Thranduil broke the silence.  
“Amin mela lle,” he murmured.   
Bard blinked and stared down at him. The elf’s eyes were wide and soft.  
“What’s that mean?” he asked  
“I love you,” Thranduil replied.   
Bard blinked in surprise and then slowly smiled.  
“I love you, too.”

Thranduil’s head was starting to muddle, pain confusing him.  
So this is how it ends, he thought, my son resents me, I led my people to slaughter, and my lover thinks I was abandoning him. What a wreck I’ve made of things. I drove those closest to me away in my greed and cowardice.   
A tear slipped from his eye. He was going to die, bitter and alone. Regret is unprofessional, but Thranduil wanted to do nothing but change things now.

“You’re very pretty.”  
Thranduil turned to face the voice, a little human girl stared up at him.  
“Thank you, penneth,” he said.  
She smiled up at him.  
“You’re welcome,” she brightly responded.   
She continued to observe him. He sighed.  
“Can I assist you in any way?” he asked her.  
She shook her head, curls bouncing.  
“No… well, maybe. Do you know who my Da’s elven friend is?”  
Thanduil blinked.  
“What?”  
The girl nodded.  
“My Da has an elf that he’s friends with. Well, he says that they’re just friends, but I think that Da loves him,” she explained sagely.   
Thranduil knelt down to be at her level.  
“If your father is friends with this elf, especially if he loves him, why hasn’t he introduced you?” he asked.  
She shrugged.  
“I don’t know. I guess he’s worried about what we’ll think.”  
Thranduil cocked his head.  
“Why would that worry him?”  
“Well, he hasn’t loved anyone else other than Ma and she died before I can remember. Maybe he’s worried about what Ma will think, that she’ll think he doesn’t love her anymore.”  
Thranduil shook his head.  
“I cannot see that happening. I lost my wife centuries ago and I love someone else now, but I still love her, too.”  
The girl nodded.  
“I know he won’t stop loving Ma and I think she would want him to be happy. He’s been so happy lately.”  
Thranduil smiled slightly.  
“That is good. But I can understand his fears. I have not told my son about my new love yet.”  
“You should. You should hug him when you do it, too. So that way he’ll know you still love him, too.”  
Thranduil blinked in surprise and looked sad.   
“I am afraid my son and I do not hug anymore.”  
The girl looked horrified.  
“How can you not HUG?! Hugs are the best!” she exclaimed.  
Thranduil shrugged.  
“After his mother died, we did not have anything to talk about and we fell apart.”  
She looked even more appalled.   
“Well, do you play games with him?” she asked.  
Thranduil shook his head.   
“No, he is all grown up now.”  
“That’s no excuse!”  
Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  
“My sister, Sigrid, is almost all grown up but she still likes hugging and playing games with Da!” she cried.  
Thranduil looked at her in surprise.  
“You need to tell you son about your love and then you need to give him a hug and play a game with him!” she demanded.  
“I do not kn-” Thranduil started.  
“Promise!” she cut him off.  
He blinked.  
“What?”  
“Promise you’ll do it,” she said.  
As he opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off again.  
“Tilda!”  
Thranduil looked up to see Bard rushing toward them.  
“Da!” the girl cried and flung herself into his arms.   
“You were supposed to stay with Bain,” the Bargeman scolded.  
“It’s okay, Da. I was with him. And I asked him about your friend.”  
She pointed at Thranduil. Bard blinked and acknowledged him for the first time since he had arrived, blushing at her last comment.  
“Oh, hello, Thranduil.”  
“Hello, Bard.”  
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.  
“Umm, Tilda, why don’t you go see how Sigrid’s doing,” Bard said awkwardly.  
“Ok, Da.”  
She hopped down and started off, but stopped and turned to him.  
“Will you promise?” she asked.  
Bard looked at him quizzically. Thranduil gave her a small, sad smile.  
“I promise.”  
He never followed through on it.  
She grinned and skipped off and Bard turned to him.  
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he blurted out and flushed.  
Thranduil smiled.  
“I am glad to see you well also, meleth-nin.”  
Bard looked like he was having a great internal debate. His face was scrunched in confusion and anguish.  
“Is it true?” he asked suddenly.  
Thranduil was confused.  
“Is what true?”  
Now Bard looked angry.  
“Is it true you almost abandoned the battle and forsook us all?”  
Dread settled heavy in Thranduil’s abdomen. Bard was not supposed to know about Thranduil’s moment of weakness. He wasn’t supposed to know of his cowardice. The cowardice that his son had reversed by inadvertently reminding him that Bard was mortal. That the man he loved would die, it was inevitable. That they should cherish their time together no matter how short. That mortal lives were even more precious than immortal ones because they were so short. That Thranduil needed to be there for the man he loved, to keep him safe so that they could have the rest of his natural life.   
Thranduil hesitated.  
“Yes.”  
Bard’s face twisted in anguish and Thranduil’s heart clenched.  
“Bard-”  
“No.”  
Thranduil had never wanted to cry more than in that moment.  
“No, it was stupid of me to believe that I could really mean anything to you. That the life of a mortal man could mean anything to an elf.”  
“Meleth-nin, no-”  
Bard let out a bark of humorless laughter that torn into Thranduil’s chest.  
“God, I actually believed that you meant those words, that you loved me.”  
“I did mean them and I still do-”  
“If you did you wouldn’t have tried to leave me to die.”  
Thranduil was struck speechless with regret and self-hatred.   
Bard let out a long breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.   
“Well, I guess that’s it. Goodbye, Thranduil. And don’t worry, diplomatic relations between Dale and Mirkwood won’t suffer because of this.”  
Thranduil could not will himself to move, to call after him. It was not supposed to end this way. Bard was safe, the battle was over, and they were going to finally be truly together. Fate, he decided, liked to tease. Liked to give you that which you most desired just long enough until you started to believe in forever and then rip it from your fingers.   
Resigned and fighting tears, the Elvenking of Mirkwood headed toward the Ravenhill. 

Bard wanted to take back those last words. He wanted to go back in time and kiss Thranduil goodbye instead of shunning him. He wanted to tell Thranduil that he forgave him. But death was going to rob him of the chance, the chance for the closest Bard could get to happily ever after.   
He knew his words has been harsh. He prided himself knowing Thranduil better than anyone. On being one of the few people to be able to see the desperate, panic, and regret in those icy eyes as he said that last goodbye. He knew Thranduil regretted it. He knew that Thranduil loved him. But just like Tauriel he had thrown that back in his face by accusing him of being loveless.   
They had fought before, slamming doors and storming out. But this time there would be no making up, no forgiveness. Time was closing in. 

We could feel the life leaving our limbs.   
The air leaving our chests.   
The blood leaving our veins.  
Our thoughts focused on our children.  
And on each other.  
On broken promises.  
On lies and regrets.  
On permanent separation.  
On love about to be lost.  
We could hear voices calling us, panicked.  
We could hear the footsteps approaching.   
They were coming for us…  
Too Late.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. If anybody actually likes this please tell me. I may write a sequel if I get enough requests.


End file.
